


Fantasies

by CatalenaMara



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Pon Farr, Shore Leave Planet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 10:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14353893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatalenaMara/pseuds/CatalenaMara
Summary: Spock hopes the constructs of the Shore leave planet will be able to help him through pon farr, but only reality will do.





	Fantasies

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in 1985 the print fanzine “Naked Times” #8.  
> I was not the first K/S author to use the shore leave planet trope, nor the second, but I may have been the 3rd or 4th. :-)

Leafy green surrounded him. It was a forest — vast, verdant, and curiously unfeatured. His naked skin was alive to every nuance of the air, the slight breezes tugging at him, drawing him forward. This was a memory, he knew, and one only partially formed. He couldn't focus. There was some other memory tugging insistently at his mind, this one laden with pain. The pain that was centered in the hard pulsing pressure at his groin. He did not want to go home.

And yet, as he thought it, he was there.

Red sand. An infinity of desert stretched out to the unreachable mountains.  The air was like glass, an impenetrable barrier between him and what he wished to see.

The Place. The Time. The upright stones thrust skyward, dozens of seeking phalluses. His own pulsed, sending surging fire through his veins. The sky was a vast conflagration, centering on Vulcan's molten sun. Burning. Fire within him, burning inside every cell, focused on the spear of flame thrusting out from him. Consuming him. Destroying him. But slowly, so slowly, each second, each breath a torment.

Feverish and dizzy, he stumbled forward across the sand toward the monoliths. T'Pring's face hung in the air before him, an enormous projection, rippling in the heat. Her cool eyes watched him, taunting his pain. There was nothing else in the universe but her face; his heat and flame were centered and focused on her.

There was a path it seemed he must walk upon, composed of burning sand.  Heat wove upward, patterning the air. He gasped as his penis surged, trying not to believe this painful hardness was a part of him. The air burned his naked skin. He stumbled, thrust his hips into the nothingness, shuddering at the caress of death-still air.

There were others suddenly beside the path. He paused, blinking, as his vision wavered, looking at the small series of statues — the forms of three naked women, trapped frozen and motionless behind cages of glass.

Leila did not look at him. Her blue dreamy eyes were set somewhere else.  Zarabeth was staring straight ahead, her hands stretched but in needing supplication, but her statue eyes were frozen over, without expression. He could see ice in her hair, and the clear white frozen expanse of her bare skin. The Romulan commander was like a flame, burning with ambition. Her hands formed imperious gestures, her face was printed with a secret smile, her eyes somehow both looked at and through him, filled with private schemes.

Still, he wanted them. Any of them. All of them. Flame filled him, arrowing up from his groin. There was no barrier between his skin and the sand and the air. But the women were behind glass. He flung himself against that hardness, crying out in pain and need. None of them moved, and when he fell back, his imploring gaze searching each frozen face, none were looking at him.

Only T'Pring was watching, and she didn't care.

He ran toward her image, roaring out his rage and need, reaching out to seize her. There was no impact when he met the projection; he ran through it as easily as the air. There was nothing beyond.

Sobbing, he fell forward onto the burning sand. It excoriated his skin, flaying him, yet he writhed against it with the pain and the need....

* * * * *

Gasping, he woke. Dizzy and sick, he lay curled in a fetal position on the ground while the world whirled around him. Fever laced his veins with venomed fire. The world was narrowed to the green of grass, their knife-like stalks a forest of lances before his eyes. The hard brown earth was beneath.

No insects, he thought irrelevantly. There were none here. The construct did not require that degree of accuracy. He felt some surprise that he saw the green of Earth, and not Vulcan sands, but he supposed the general landscape was maintained this way for the taste of the Humans, to give them a familiar backdrop for their conjured fantasies.

Not that he wanted to see Vulcan, or anything that reminded him of that world. He pulled himself to a sitting position. Nausea surged, and he held himself still, resting his head against his knees. The torment between his legs had not abated. His penis was a huge alien thing, thrusting out from his body in its adamant hardness, needing so much to be satisfied. A strain of bitter envy washed through his mind — envy of the Humans, and the ease with which they attained relief.

He had hoped this place would bring him relief. But his attempted fantasies never took flesh, and his sleep had brought nothing but nightmares. Whether the fault was in the Keeper's constructs, or in his own body and. mind, was an irrelevant point.

He was dying. His last hope had failed him.

After a moment, trying desperately for shreds of control, he quelled the nausea and dizziness to a manageable level. He sat for awhile, watching with bitter eyes the placid green landscape the Humans so favored. Red sands, a cyclone of them, swirled in his mind, obscuring T'Pring's face, blasting the frozen statues into nonexistence. He reached out to nothingness—

With a start, he realized he had again slipped into some sort of waking dream. Another hallucination, he surmised wearily. How much longer? How much would he have to endure? And would the Humans find him before he died?

The thought was insupportable. He staggered to his feet. His clothes were in untidy heaps around them. Habit forced him to reach for pants, but the ache in his groin stopped his hand before he reached his.goal. His fingers clenched into fists as he stared down at himself, at the verdant-blushed cock straining up into the air. To die from need. So senseless. So illogical.

He must remain alone. He looked around to get his bearings. His mind was open, and with his shielding nearly wrecked, it was easy to sense the presence of others. Most of the Humans were to the west, with a few to the north.

Very well. With a semblance of a determined stride, he headed east. The land changed as he traveled. The greenery diminished into scrub, and the land became harder and redder, until he was walking on the hard packed ground of the Forge, outside Sasashar, and the air was filled with silence.

He would walk until he dropped, he thought, pleased he could still make so reasonable a decision. No one would find him until it was too late. Perhaps the Keeper would retrieve his body and save it for them. Certainly, the Keeper could do nothing else for him. Otherwise, this agony would be over by now, and he would either be dead, or returned to the ship, with no one to ever know.

He didn't think any had suspected. It had come upon him suddenly, three days ago, the first warning signals a blaring alarm in his mind.

He'd been careful with his control. He'd found extra work in the labs to keep him occupied, and thus managed to avoid the company of the doctor, and especially Jim. He knew that shore leave was planned, and for this particular world.

It had seemed a possible solution. He had no one. The thought of confiding in anyone on the ship was impossible. No one must know. Jim must not know. Vulcan held no hope for him. Only this place, with its living illusions, held out any possibilities. The timing had been right. Their planetfall had occurred that morning.

He'd been careful to beam down after the scheduled shore parties had departed. He supposed the transporter techs were gossiping about his unexpected beam-down. Most probably the captain knew by now. But Jim was courteous enough to know when to leave him alone. He would think, perhaps, that his first officer needed different surroundings for meditation.

It had seemed a possible solution. But now he recognized the fallacy of his thought. As he stumbled onward, the torment between his legs, the fire in his veins grew more intolerable with every step. He needed real flesh, a real mind to merge with, not half-realized illusions from an unfulfilled past.

To need so much, and to have no one! Fire drove him, blotting out the ground and the sky.  Flame blazed in his eyes, as if the heat from his sky had taken form and was crawling upward. His skin itself was taut, tight, as if it were some constricting cocoon and he would shortly burst out into some other world.

His mind reeled as a nightmarish series of bodies danced across the vista, insubstantial and teasing, inviting him with open arms, open mouths, open legs. Some had faces. Familiar faces. He reached for Zarabeth countless times. But her flesh was cold and airy, his hands slipped through her, grasping nothing.

There were tears on his face, he realized. He was falling, and the sand rose to meet him.

* * * * *

He opened his eyes to sand again, but there was a subtle difference in its color and texture. He hurt, and his abused cock, trapped and abraded between his body and the ground, shot agony to his mind.

He rolled over. His hand curled, clenched. He wanted to touch himself, pump and stroke and try for ease. He didn't dare. Each fleeting contact with anything — cloth, skin, his hand — increased his need with no hope for satisfaction.

It was cooler here, he realized. A gentle, cooling breeze was blowing over his shoulder, tickling and teasing his hair. Sudden fear filled him. Had he wandered in circles and returned to where the Humans were? Had anyone seen?

No. His ragged awareness assured him he was quite alone.

He stood, and a vestige of his former curiosity asserted itself. He still walked on sand, but it was a beach this time, not a desert, and the waves of a salty ocean lapped at its shores.

He stared out at the limitless vista of grayish-blue water, wondering at the power requirements needed to create such things almost instantaneously. Why had he fantasized this? He had certainly seen many oceans, but why would he dream of one?

For certainly, a dream had caused this. Perhaps he had thought of cool water and, in his enormous need, an enormous quantity had been created. He had so little control left. Bits and pieces of visions paraded across the sky, upon the ground, around him. Zarabeth’s grey eyes, proud breasts flaunting themselves before him; Leila's cool blondness, the curling hair between her legs inviting his touch; the Romulan Commander's open emerald lips, emerald genitals swollen and ready. Yet the visions vanished in fragments, torn pieces blown away in the wind.

Sporadic thoughts intruded and disappeared in his mind like phantom traces of something long gone, like fingerprints left behind on the surface of mirror or metal.

Like the imprint in the sand before him where someone had stood, then walked away, leaving these traces behind for the water to softly erase.

He stared at those footprints for a long time, considering the implication. Well, perhaps someone had been here. Perhaps one of his fantasies. He was certainly quite alone now.

He started walking again, an aimless exercise to weary himself. The motion stimulated him as well; he felt his tight balls, his inflamed cock with every step. Yet if he remained still, his world narrowed to the fire in his groin. Moving, he could try to concentrate on other things.

He topped a rise in the sand and paused at the top, staring at the man below.

It was Jim, sprawled out on a blanket on the sand, gloriously naked to the sun's life-giving rays. His legs were open, his cock, partially-erect, rose from the golden bed of curls between his thighs. Spock's hand curled at the sight of that cock. He took a few hesitant steps forward.

One of Jim's arms was thrown over his face, protecting his eyes from the sunshine. The other was sprawled limply by his side. His entire posture was open, vulnerable. Inviting.

Need blazed into Spock's mind. The truth of this fantasy etched itself on his mind in an instant in sheets of acid. Then that agony was gone, and the realization itself clear and complete. There was no need for shame or fear. He was dying, would soon be dead, and here a final comfort from the deepest part of his mind had offered itself.

He stepped forward eagerly. He was ignorant of a man's touch, but his body knew what to do. He had almost reached Jim's side when his fantasy sighed and stirred. The arm came down.  The hazel eyes opened.

Jim smiled at him. And the whole force of Kirk's personality was suddenly there, rampaging through his lowered defenses, seizing and searching out his soul.

He staggered and fell to his knees.

Kirk's eyes were fastened on him. There was a peculiar, wondering smile on his face. The air seemed suddenly clarified, magnifying Kirk, emphasizing every detail — those rose-gold nipples, the cup of his navel, the places at throat and hip where bone came close to the surface, the light sheen of sweat making a patina on that skin, those marvelous, changeable eyes, that curling hair that he longed to touch. The way Jim was looking at him, smiling, inviting, with his lips slightly parted and the pupils in his eyes enlarged.

He was so clear, so real.

Because he was real.

Spock moaned at the knowledge.

He was real. And Spock's shielding was decimated, destroyed, Kirk's fantasies flooded in.

Spock saw himself through Kirk's eyes. The lean Vulcan body, hard and ready, eyes blazing with need. Muscles tense and taut, rippling beneath skin bronzed from the sun. Black hair in disarray around the angular, fever-bright face.

_What will it be like, to kiss that hard Vulcan mouth? Feel Spock’s leanness against him, hard and pressing the entire length of his body, cocks erect and pressing, needing. Feel the richness of that skin, soft against the hard greyhound musculature. See those beloved eyes filled with need, watch the face of his friend come open and alive beneath his caresses. Awaken pleasure in that controlled body, to be the one -- the only one -- able to do that. To bury the length of himself inside that hot body, to become alive, more alive than he had ever been--._

Spock gasped at the intensity of these feelings, these fantasies, this want. This incredible need. This love.

Kirk's desires erupted in his mind, forced up to the surface like lava from a volcano. His body screamed for relief, an insane, hysterical urge aflame with that promise, that reality.

It was like a dream, to watch his own hand reach out. He tentatively stroked Kirk’s shoulder. The skin was silk, over the hardness of bone beneath.

With a strangled cry, he reached and pulled Kirk to him in a hard embrace. Jim's delight in the pleasure of this fantasy shimmered on his mind like blinding sunlight on water. All the moves and caresses were there. Hard, urgent, needing. Now. No waiting. Hot fevered kisses. Their bodies strained together. Kirk was.incredibly hard, and his penis and the muscles of his belly tormented Spock beyond the last vestige of control.

He threw them both to the ground, bending Jim's willing flesh to his will. Kirk urged him on, hands caressing, guiding, hot eyes like shafts of sunlight impaling him. So easy, knowing what to do. Kirk's knowledge was an immediate guide. Jim had done this before, with others. Strangers. Friends. He brought himself down between Kirk's legs, under the straining sex. Jim's cock and balls quivered at the fleeting contact. He laved the revealed opening with his tongue, wetting him, then moved, bringing Kirk's legs over his shoulders, forcing his cock to the tiny opening.

Kirk was prepared for him, ready, accepting, as he thrust his hot length into the narrow channel, crying aloud as the tightness accepted him, then moving, thrusting ragged. His skin was on fire, every part of him blazing, and the nova at his groin gathered for explosion. Convulsions rippled through him as his seed spurted out, each ecstatic spasm shaking his body, shattering him to his core. On and on, the pent-up seed surged into the willing body, and that body was writhing, too. Spock grabbed the erect cock and felt it jerk, saw it jet, and Kirk's joy exploded to meet his own.

He fell with Jim into some dark and welcoming oblivion.

* * * * *

When he woke, it was to coolness on his skin, where the fever had raged before, and the warmth where a body was pressed to his. He opened his eyes and found Kirk snuggled against him in sleep, cradled on top of one arm.

_Rest,_ his mind whispered. _Rest._

Cool rationality was trying to reassert him. With it came a burning depth of shame. He wanted to leave, to be away from here. Jim had thought him a fantasy. Leave now, and Jim would continue to think so. It would never have happened. It would—.

Jim wanted him.

He paused at that thought, examining it. Jim's essence was still on him, on his skin, in his mind. Jim wanted him. It was so simple.

Complications, his mind warned. Stay and there would be emotional complications. Emotional destruction awaited. Staying would be like stepping off a cliff. The only logical result was obliteration on the rocks below.

Jim opened his eyes, and the time for decision was gone. He sighed softly and moved to sit up, stroking Spock's hair affectionately.

"I thought you'd be gone," he said with a wistful smile.

"I... had considered it," Spock admitted hoarsely.

A questioning look passed over Kirk's face, then it hardened into another expression, one of wonder and concern.

"Why didn't you go?" he asked. The hazel eyes held hard, bright lights. Spock felt helpless before them, trapped in quicksand, nearly immersed.

"I had not known...." He could go no further. Something broke inside, and an emotional tidal wave overwhelmed him, sucking him down into its depths like a whirlpool. He felt himself shaking, Kirk's arms going around him comfortingly, holding him tight and close, and there was such solace in that mind, such balm to his fevered soul, that he fell into it willingly, accepting everything.

Some time later, he found himself curled against Kirk's shoulder. Jim was stroking his hair, soothing him with gentle words. He felt the tracks of drying tears on his face.

Stiffly, he tried to pull away, but Kirk's arms held him tightly, and he would not summon the strength to break that protective hold.

"I beg forgiveness," he whispered.

"There's nothing to forgive," Jim said. "Except in myself. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were... real."

"I took advantage...." Spock stumbled, feeling foolish, remembering exactly how he had followed Kirk's vivid imagery cues as to what to do, and how to do it, how to give them both that climactic satisfaction.

Kirk seemed to be following his every thought. There was a gentle smile on his face. "Then I'd say we used each other. I'd rather say we made love to each other."

"It was need," Spock protested, filled with the habit of denial.

"Yes," Jim agreed. "Yes, it was certainly that." He found Spock's mouth in a gentle kiss. "And I need this, too."

Spock passively allowed himself to be pushed back down on the soft blankets. He watched as Kirk straddled him, bending over him, the electricity in the moist Human skin approaching, tingling before they even touched.

His skin flared to life, tingling at Jim's every touch. Fleeting, teasing caresses. Long strokes. Squeezes and loving explorations. Kirk's tongue followed the same paths. Wet strokes that seemed to draw out his soul. He heard himself moaning as Kirk explored long-dormant sensitivities. Long hot kisses. His own tongue began to explore the nuances of Jim's mouth. Tongues meeting, testing, tasting. Jim's moist breath as he kissed and blew into his ear. He was shivering, and need had formed again, hard and thrusting; but it was delicious and not demanding, and he allowed Kirk every slow exquisite moment of his exploration. Throat. Collarbone. He cried out, softly, as Kirk's tongue laved across one nipple, then another, feeling the twin tiny hardness on his chest tingle, jolting the fire in his groin to even greater heights.

Then Jim's warm mouth was on him, swallowing the length of his cock, sucking and licking. How strange, how wonderful, to look down at himself and see Jim there, see Jim using his mouth to give him such pleasure. Delicate swirls with the tongue. That exquisite sucking. Jim's mouth working him, up and down, teasingly leaving for seconds to linger a fraction of an inch away, maddening him with his breath. His hips surged, out of control, his balls swollen, tightening, and he tangled one hand in Kirk's hair, urging him.

Kirk pulled back again, and he groaned, hips arching up, desperate for that touch. The Human laughed softly, and met his eyes for one moment. Spock felt transfixed by the love there, the perfect understanding. Then the mouth came down on him again, a hard sucking urging the building convulsion, destroying him utterly.

When the last shudders passed from his body, he smiled at Kirk, who had stretched himself atop him. He felt the hard blunt pressure of Kirk's cock against his, and shifted, spreading his legs.

It needed no words. Kirk knelt between his legs, gathering them up, placing them on his shoulders. Spock shifted, finding the right angle to give him access. Kirk was watching his face questioningly. The answer was there, in his face, in his mind. Kirk's cock, lubricated with saliva, found the opening and pushed, careful inch by inch, inside. No pain. A diffused, intense pleasure. To be filled like this. Jim. Inside him. Jim's mind was open, intense with pleasure, and Spock lost himself in it, willingly drowned his soul inside that bright ecstasy, shaped and flowed and moved with until they became one.

The supernova exploded, flaring its profligate flame, then steadied, burning bright and still in the comforting darkness.

Jim moved to lie down beside him. An instinct woke, for another type of touch. He embraced him. How strange, to reach out and touch someone like this, in gentleness. In love. How natural. He enfolded him close. Jim smiled at him.

Smiling back. So easy.

One hand came up to brush Jim's hair. That mind, so alive inside him. Love. Need. Soul-deep commitment.

So easy. He recognized the link between them, a silver shimmering cord, veiled with light. How strange. It had been there all along. Only its intense brightness was new.

"I love you," Jim said. 

He was reborn, phoenix from the ashes of his own flame. He circled Jim's shoulders with his arm, pressing against the sweat-cooled skin.

"Thee are beloved. Lover. Thee are my world."

Jim was watching him seriously, intent on every word, “I hadn't expected to find you here. Now, I wonder why."

Spock smiled, and Kirk's joy in that easy gesture was transparent, radiant on the Human's face.

"I love you," Spock said, using Human words, and moved to meet Jim's mouth in a kiss.

They fell asleep in each other's arms, cradled by the sun, the sand, the sky.


End file.
